


Judgement

by Yassoda



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Non-Binary Character, Comfort, Digital Art, Discipline, Other, Spanking, Strapping, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yassoda/pseuds/Yassoda
Summary: In Nadia's route, when we meet Nazali for the first time, Julian is just ressurected from his hanging, and they say “So, Julian. What did we say about constantly sacrificing yourself, hmm?”Which. of course. to my kinky kinky brain said oh, Nazali was Julian's disciplinarian when they were his mentor!So this is how Nazali deals with that scene, after MC and Nadia leave the room.Enjoy!Warning: Consensual spanking of a grown man, for disciplinary purposes. Don't like don't read.





	Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> Judgement pops up in a Tarot reading when you are close to reaching a significant stage in your journey. You have reviewed and evaluated your past experiences and have learned from them. All the pieces of the puzzle of your life are finally coming together to form one, unified picture of your life story. This integration has healed deep wounds, and you are now able to put the past behind you. You have found your absolution, having cleared any wrongdoings or regrets, and releasing any guilt or sadness about the past. This purging process will leave you refreshed and ready to take on any new challenges.
> 
> To clear these past mistakes and regrets, and any associated guilt or shame, work on your self-forgiveness, self-acceptance, self-love, and release and freedom.
> 
> Upright: Judgement, rebirth, inner calling, absolution  
> Reversed: Self-doubt, inner critic, ignoring the call

“So, Julian. What did we say about constantly sacrificing yourself, hmm?”

The tone is playful, but Julian knows that look. Nazali’s face stays impassive as the Countess and her... Pet? Partner? Julian isn’t sure what the Magician is to the Countess. Nonetheless, they leave the room, and despite Nazali’s neutral expression, Julian can see in their eyes that he is in trouble.

“Um,” he splutters. Portia is still in the room, her arms crossed and eyes twinkling. Somehow, she can tell he’s in trouble, and she seems curious to see where this is going. “Why, Doctor Stratinava, your worry is misplaced. As usual, I have emerged unscathed from my daring – !”

Nazali cuts him off.

“I asked you a simple question, Ilya. Please answer it.”

Julian blushes hard, and starts fidgeting. He glances down at his hands, then back at his old mentor’s face.

“We. We said not to? But it was necessary, you heard why, it was the only way, and the Countess agreed to it.”

“I have to disagree with both of you there. My youngest sister does not always make the wisest choices. Coming close to death may have been the only solution, but you could have achieved that in a number of safer and less unpredictable ways.”

Julian flounders.

“This was the easiest – ”

“No. This was the most dangerous, with the most variables.”

“They’re right, you know,” inputs Portia. “That creepy Dr. Valdemar tried to snatch your lifeless body, it was lucky the Countess’ orders and men got in the way of that. If I were alone, I don’t know _where_ you would have woken up...”

At the thought, Portia’s eyes start to fill with tears, and Julian jumps up from the bed he was sitting on to go to her, and console her.

“Oh no Pasha don’t cry!” he pleads, hands hovering over her. “I knew it would be fine! I wouldn’t have done it otherwise!”

Portia’s disbelieving scoff and a discreet shuffle from behind him tell him that no one in the room believes his lie. Portia smacks him on the shoulder.

“Liar,” she sniffs. “But it’s okay.”

She wipes her eyes and gives Julian a brave grin.

“I know I can’t change who you are. I’m glad you’re okay. I love you, Ilya.”

Julian feels a pang in his heart, but he is ready for the hug, and gathers his sister close.

“I love you too, Pasha. Thank you for all your help.”

Portia steps back with a last sniff and squared shoulders.

“Okay, you heard the countess. I’m going to get you a disguise. Don’t you dare sneak out while I’m away!”

Julian’s eyes cross to follow Portia’s wagging finger.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And I’ll ensure he stays here,” rings out a poised voice. “We still have much to discuss.”

Julian grimaces slightly, but waves his sister away, reassuring.  
He’d rather she not be here for the “discussion” his old mentor doubtlessly has in mind.

* * *

Julian turns towards me, shoulders squared, an echo of his sister’s body language. I let my eyes slide over his long form. He’s broadened, since I knew him, yet his face is more gaunt. I sit on the bed and tap the spot to my right.

“Please, sit down.”

Julian obeys, somewhat meekly. His mind and mine must be in the same place.

“It seems that your bad habits have not broken since my mentorship,” I muse. “Quite the contrary I’d say. You were reckless when you were young, daring, unrepentant, but you always clung to life with both hands. What happened?”

I can see him struggle to answer me, the facade of uncaring rowdiness going up. I realize he must be used to hiding behind it now, now that he’s got no one to be vulnerable with. I look down. His hands are fisted in the silken drapes that cover the bed. I lightly place my hand on his.

“Please, Ilya.”

He sighs, a heavy heave, laced with the weight of what he carries with him every day. His hand relaxes a fraction.

“Lucio,” he almost chuckles. “Lucio happened. The plague. My guilt.”

I do not know much of the old Count, but I know something is wrong in Vesuvia, broken, tarnished. And I know my sister is not responsible.

“Tell me.”

And Julian does. I remember the beginning of his story, how, fresh out of my mentorship, he found a position as a nobleman’s battlefield Doctor. How eager he was to serve, to heal, to help. How grateful he was for my teachings. I remember telling him to brace for the deaths that come with war, and he’d said he understood.  
But he was not ready for a tyrant, who resented him for saving his life. He was not ready for a hopeless, incurable epidemic where failure meant death, where death, for a palace doctor, meant the mandatory dissection and destruction of his body. He was not ready for a cruel supervisor who treated employees like cattle, and the plague like a delectable turn of events. He was not ready to be sentenced to death for a crime he doesn’t remember committing, nor for the obsessive doubt-laced guilt that came with it.

“So I came back, looking for answers. Being here helped me remember some things, gradually. I remembered I’ve almost died once before, and found the cure to the plague in the Hanged Man’s realm. But I couldn’t remember the cure, and the plague is coming back, so you see, that is why I had to, why I _wanted_ to die. To be judged, and, when found guilty, hanged.”

My face tenses. I don’t want to interrupt him, but his choices, the danger he put himself in, make my skin crawl, my stomach turn, my heart clench. I care for him, and it’s hard not to react. He notices my shift, and turns fully towards me, his long legs knocking mine.

“But I knew I’d come back, and with answers! I had the mark!”

“The mark was no guarantee.”

“I’ll admit that, but it worked anyway!”

I grow annoyed, and it bleeds through my voice.

“Ilya. I understand your motivations behind visiting the hanged man, by any means possible. That is not what I take issue with. The plague coming back is a very serious problem, but nothing you have said justifies you being hanged. I know you had a reason behind this foolhardy, suicidal endeavor. Say it.”

Julian jumps up and starts pacing. I stay seated, my eyes following his movement. He’s agitated, hands fidgeting and gesturing nonsensically.

“I– I couldn’t... I couldn’t stand it anymore!”

“Tell me what you couldn’t stand.”

“Not knowing, but, but mostly, the guilt! The guilt, it was maddening, I didn’t know who I was anymore! A killer? When I’ve sworn to save lives? A coward, who ran from justice? And how could I possibly forget the cure, _my_ cure, the cure I put so much blood and sweat and tears into finding? I didn’t know, I had to know, I had to atone, I had to find peace!”

He stops, his hands now buried in his hair, head bowed low. He’s winded. I finally stand up, and place a hand between his broad shoulders.

“And I know now, I didn’t kill Lucio. I’m innocent and I have the cure, so why don’t I feel better?”

His voice is soft, just above a murmur. I know tears are threatening to fall. I start rubbing his back, in small, slow circles.

“Let me remind you of a few very important rules we had together.”

His breath hitches, but he is listening.

“You are innocent until proven guilty. Not the opposite. Things that are out of your control are not your responsibility. And above all,” my hand slides to his nape, and I squeeze firmly. “You do not get to decide your punishments. Remember why?”

His hands fall at his side.

“Because I’m too harsh on myself.”

“Because you’re too harsh on yourself. Because you think sacrificing or severely harming yourself is appropriate, while it is not.”

My words weigh heavy in the following silence, interspersed with Julian’s ragged breathing. Quite unexpectedly, he chuckles.

“Boy did I bone it this time, huh?”

He inhales deeply, and shakes his head, as if to chase away his dark thoughts. My hand slides away.

“So, what are you going to do?”

He peeks at me through the curtain of his hair, tentative. He looks hopeful.

“That depends on you. We cannot go back to our old arrangement, we have separate lives, and you do not need me as you once did. But I think, in this instance, some firm guidance might help clear your head from all that guilt, misplaced and not. Might help you atone, and forgive yourself, fully. As you well know, I am quite adept in providing that,” I smile.

Julian huffs amusedly, and spreads his arms out wide.

“Do your worst, my dear Doctor Stratinava! Please guide my bone-headed self as firmly as you dare!”

It’s full of bravado, which I know will not last long, but I am glad to see him this lively.

“Julian, I won’t go easy on you,” I warn. “This will be a very difficult lesson, one that I intend to make very painful.”

He shrugs.

“As I said.” A wide grin sprawls across his face. “Do your worst.”

I nod curtly, go to lock the door, and pull the silken sheets from the bed, getting a pillow ready for him.

Time to get him well and thoroughly spanked.

* * *

Despite acting all certain and daring, Julian apprehends the punishment to come. He remembers all too clearly bawling over his mentor’s lap, backside smarting, discipline being applied to it again and again. Doctor Stratinava has a strong arm, and boundless determination when it comes to laying the law.

His feelings about those times are conflicted. Pain arouses him. It always has, and it probably always will, and while his punishments at the hand of his mentor have been part of his, pun intended, spank bank for some time, they are not sexual at all while they are happening. Because Julian always feels guilty, or inadequate, or absolutely horrible before them, and nothing kills his boner quicker than self-hatred.

“Come here please.”

Julian starts out of his reverie, and looks over to where Nazali is seated, on the bed once more. But this time, they aren’t inviting Julian to sit next to them. They are tapping their lap.

Julian squirms, flashes of arousal coursing through his body. Sure, Mazelinka smacks him with the spoon, and the pirates used lashings to maintain discipline, and Asra always gave him what he asked for, cuts and bites and burns and bruises, and Lucio threw things at him that, when they impacted, _hurt_ , but he hasn’t received a proper spanking in such a long time... The ceremony of it is intimidating, and humbling. A throwback to his youth, when he had people to answer to, people who cared enough to keep him in line.

His heart clenches at that, and he quickly makes his way over to Nazali, starting to bend over their lap.

“Ah ah,” they stop him, two fingers pressed against his lowering shoulder. “Pants, Ilya.”

Julian blushes hard, and stands straight again, unfastening the clasp of his pants.  
He shoves them down to mid-thigh before bending over once more, as fast as he can manage.

Nazali helps him over, their firm hands guiding him in the proper position, chest resting on the bed, legs dangling down to the floor, bottom upturned.

Nazali puts one hand on his lower back, near the hem of his underpants, brushing his shirt up and out of the way. Their other hand goes to rest on his thigh.

“Remember to try and stay still, Ilya,” they recommend softly. “You’re safe. Don’t fight the tears.”

Julian’s face twitches in an effort to refrain from making a sarcastic quip, and it’s like Nazali can feel it, because before he knows it, the hand on his back presses down, and the hand on his thigh is gone, then back with a vengeance, slapping vigorously on the seat of his underwear.

And it doesn’t hurt yet, not really, not to the extent Julian is used to, but it quickly starts to sting uncomfortably, and Julian lets out a mortified groan. He grabs the nearest pillow and buries his face into it. The spanking sounds are so loud. He hopes no one is near this wing of the palace.

It seems to go on for ages. Julian shifts his hips, and makes soft sounds of displeasure while Nazali goes on and on, bringing their hand down all over their target, from the top of his cheeks to the top of his thighs, from the side of his behind, near his hip bone, to the very center of it. Despite not being harsh, it is very thorough, and Julian’s bottom starts throbbing in warmth.

After a good, long while, Nazali pauses and shakes out their hand.

“That was the warm-up,” they announce, and Julian groans although he suspected as much.

He lifts his hips slightly; he knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, Nazali tugs his underwear down, swiftly efficient. The garment slides down his legs, stopped by his pants. He is bare.

Julian grips his pillow tighter, and clenches his behind. The wave of shame that washes over him is one he hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

Nazali’s callused hand settles on his bottom, gauging the warmth. They chuckle.

“You’re barely pink, Ilya. I forgot how resilient your bottom is.”

Julian groans in the pillow, not appreciating the humor in Nazali’s voice.

“It still hurts,” he complains.

A sharp swat answers him, and he yips.

“Good,” states Nazali, quite sternly.

Their hands leave Julian’s body, and he shifts, turning his head to look at the other doctor. Nazali is rummaging through their pouch. They take out a length of leather, and Julian nearly jumps off their lap.

“Oh Doctor Stratinava!” he exclaims, dismayed. “Do you really think this is necessary?”

Nazali closes their pouch, and rests a calm hand on Julian’s back again, the short strap held loosely in their other hand.

“I don’t know, Julian. Why don’t you remind me why you are getting punished, and I’ll think about it?” they say.

It’s rhetorical, and all traces of amusement have fled from their voice. Julian sags down in defeat, lowering his head.

“I’ve taken... Questionable decisions, these past few weeks,” he mumbles. “Decisions that have resulted in my life being at risk, despite the existence of safer solutions. I recognize this, and while I am relieved to have found some answers to the puzzle that is my existence, my quest to find absolution has failed. I scared my friends and family. I put myself in harm’s way. I acted recklessly, without good reason.”

His voice grows thick through his confession, but Julian breathes deeply to keep his tone steady. As he speaks, Portia’s terrified face in that crowd, right before the rope tightened around his neck, the feeling of that rope, cutting his air off, breaking his neck, and the desperate loneliness he’d felt once he was wrenched from his body, swirl through his mind, and he feels his eyes fill with tears. He reaches back blindly, hoping Nazali will take his hand, needing to feel connected to them for a while. They understand, and respond by holding him tight, and wrapping their fingers around his. He takes a deep breath.

“I need help,” he admits. “I need help accepting help, and I need help to purge these feelings of guilt. Please help me, Doctor Stratinava.”

Nazali raises the strap, but before they can bring it down, Julian squirms violently, frees his hand, and twists to look at them.

“But but but but! Also please remember I don’t have a magical healing mark on me anymore?” he pleads, eyes wide.

Nazali nods seriously, not bringing up the fact that they’d never interacted with Julian while he had that mark.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their arm comes down, and Julian flinches hard, turning back to his pillow and squeezing it like his life depends on it.

_Crack!_

_art by RobinOfCoxly. Find them on Discord at RobinOfCoxly#5344 or at their[aotk profile](https://animeotk.com/gallery/member.php/uid/71000/username/71000)  
_

* * *

The lines of a harsher implement rise fast on Julian’s tender skin, as they used to. I lay them down meticulously, holding him firmly by the hip. He isn’t taking them as well as he has in the past, but that is fine. It won’t stop my hand.  
I listen to his howls and cries, waiting for the moment I know will come, when the sound will change quality, when Julian will be fully accepting and repentent, when I will be able to stop.

* * *

It’s agony.

And Julian knows he wasn’t such a whimp before, but the mark he called a curse really changed his way of dealing with pain. He used to bemoan how fast he healed, the inability to hurt himself, to feel pain for more than a few moments.  
But this, he’ll be feeling for days, and right now, he’d rather not.

“OOW! OhOooooh oh, gah, AH!”

He tries to be good, to stay still, but he cannot stop his feet from kicking out some, and his hips from swaying. His hands are gripped tightly around his pillow though; he knows not to throw them back, however much he wishes to block the blows.

It’s so loud, too. The strap cracks down, with no regard for his privacy, and Julian’s howls follow, ringing through the room, certainly reaching curious ears, certainly alerting _someone_.

“Oh please Doctor, OW! PLEASE! PLEASE not so hard! AHK!”

Nazali barely reacts, the strapping not changing in pace or strength at all, but they do answer him.

“You deserve this Ilya, you asked for it. This is just as sound as you need it. Don’t worry yourself about me, about the strap, concentrate on your wrongdoings, and let them be absolved. Release your guilt. Put the past behind you.”

Julian moans and yowls through Nazali’s instructions, but he hears them, and heeds them. Tears start dripping down his face, tracing warm paths along the bridge of his nose, as he finally makes the mental exercise that is expected of him:  
Accept the past, accept his mistakes, and move on, acknowledging he knows how to do better, and that his trials, while trying, have given him perspective and a slight bit of wisdom.

Of course Julian’s thoughts aren’t that eloquent. Not with the licks of pain that keep tormenting the meaty flesh of his behind. But he goes through it, and the pain, the feeling of finally being taken in hand, of finally being held accountable, helps. He hurts, but he feels release, release from all that hatred, release from having to do it all alone. Julian starts sobbing, his breath heaving in and out of him, uncontrolled, tears still streaming down his face, and his body goes limp, buttocks twitching only slightly as the strap meets them one, two, three more times.

* * *

When he’s had enough, I stop.

Ilya is shuddering over my lap, harsh sobs wracking his body. He must have perceived his punishment is finished now, but instead of standing up he sags down, pressing hard on my legs as all remaining tension leaves his body. I put the strap aside and start rubbing Julian’s broad back, aiming to gradually soothe him.

“You did very well Ilya. I’m proud of you.”

His next inhale is very shaky, and his exhale harsh and fragmented.

“I am,” I insist, squeezing his shoulders. “You were very good, and very brave.”

He sniffles as my hands keep roaming his back. I quickly examine his bottom. Some surface bruising will probably bloom in certain places, and linger for a couple days, but most of the damage will be faded by tomorrow.

Eventually, Julian shifts, and I let him move off of me and stand on wobbly legs. He sways a bit, looking slightly dazed still, and I stand up to steady him if need be.

“All right Ilya. You’re okay. Come on, let’s get these underpants up.”

He nods and I help him, pulling the soft cotton up, mindful of his sore buttocks. He still hisses as they find their place, and gives me a forlorn look. I try hard not to grin, and pat his back gently.

“Why don’t you step out of your pants?” I suggest, and Julian, after looking down, obeys.

It’s a good thing he wasn’t wearing his boots. I offer him a drink from my waterskin, and he drinks most of it, which is understandable considering all the shouting he’s been doing.

I steer him towards the bed once more, and have him lie down on his front. I pull the purple silk over him, and sit by his side, my hand once again finding his back.

“I know you’ve worked through some difficult things just now, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. How do you feel?”

Julian looks at me through hooded eyelids and flashes a quick grin, reminiscent of him at his most mischievous.

“Why Doctor, I’ve never felt better! This is me at peak performance! Died, resurrected, took a damn good licking, and still ready to party all night!”

I do chuckle this time, and his deep baritone joins my voice’s mirth.

As our laughs calm, I fall silent and let him drift to sleep.

I am about to stand up and let him rest for a few hours, when I catch his whisper of my name.

“Doctor Stratinava?”

“Yes Julian?”

“Thanks,” he sighs.

Before I can think of a response, his breath grows deeper, and he starts snoring softly. I huff a short laugh, quietly unlock the door, and exit the room, leaving Julian deep in slumber.

* * *

When he wakes up Julian’s body feels like ASS, but he feels lighter. More free, more alive than he’s felt in a long time. Hopeful. Happy.

He stretches his long limbs, working the kinks out of his shoulders, and rolls over, and ow. His behind aches, an ache he didn’t think he would ever get to feel again, and that too sends a trill of joy through his heart. No more mark. No more curse!

He stands up briskly, wondering what time it is, and spots something feathery on a plush chair next to the bed.

“Ooh, what’s this?” he mutters to himself, and goes to investigate.

There’s a note, with his birth name written in small, round letters. Who? Pasha? Pasha’s learned how to write? Pasha’s been here?

Julian’s face flushes, and he snatches the piece of paper, unfolds it hurriedly, and reads.

 _Ilya, this is your costume for the Masquerade. I think it should suit you perfectly, both in style and size, so you better show up wearing it!!! Also please tie on the mask securely, you’re supposedly dead, but people will still recognize your face if you’re not careful. And I wouldn’t go putting myself in danger again so soon if I were you! :p_  
_Speaking of that, don’t worry. I emptied the wing as soon as I got what was going on. Countess Nadia knows what’s what, but there’s no servant gossip as of yet, so you’re fine. I put some lotion on the nightstand for you. Asra gave it to me with a cryptic smile, said you’d know how to use it. I hope he meant healing and not GROSS STUFF!_  
_Remember I love you, and hurry up and get changed already!!!  
_Pasha <3__

Julian snorts, his face still flushed red. How on earth did Asra know already? Stupid invasive magic. Still, he reaches for the jar, and uncaps it.  
The scent of various herbs and flowers hits him instantly. He can recognize the comfrey, the arnica, and a tingling whiff of what is doubtlessly cayenne pepper, along with some more healing and soothing agents. He frowns a bit. Yes this will heal, and help with the swelling, but it will also sting a bit. Oh well. At least it’s straight up medicine and not some magic trick.

Julian spots a mirror, and goes to it, lowering his underpants. He twists around to peer at his backside, and wow. Doctor Stratinava really did a number on him.

His skin is discolored in some places, but is mostly a criss-cross of different shades of red. The whole area is swollen, and Julian knows he won’t enjoy sitting... or perhaps he’ll enjoy it too much.

Still blushing, hissing and muttering all the while, Julian rubs Asra’s lotion on his sore flesh. He was wrong, it doesn’t sting at all, and feels really nice and cool, which means there _must_ be some magical component in it, but it feels too good for him to care. He works it in, and feels much better afterwards; his skin feels less tight and he can tell the swelling has lessened a bit. But he can still feel it, which, he has to admit, is not an unwelcome reminder.

Julian goes back to the plush chair and puts on the costume, letting out a small curse when he feels how tight the pants are. But all in all, he looks stunning. Very dramatic, very dark, and the loup reminds him of his plague mask, which is a nice touch. He misses his mask. This feels right.

Smiling widely at himself, Julian fluffs his feathers, and leaves the room.

A sore ass will not stop him. Time to go enjoy the biggest party in Vesuvia!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment ^^


End file.
